


Soft Hearts

by Symmet



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: (Shhh magic), Cole and Cassandra ship it, Dalish troubles, F/M, How do they tan hide in a snow storm?, Inquisitor Lavellan goes hunting, Solas is a dick about the Dalish, Solas takes on wolf form, The weather outside is frightful, They make her a coat, the company is not acting as delightful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5186915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Symmet/pseuds/Symmet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She has been exceedingly tolerant of his dismissal of her culture. Extremely, in fact. All in the name of their friendship. She wonders if he knows how to do the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Solas puts his foot in his mouth and staunchly refuses to remove it until he puts further consideration into the matter under Cole's supervision. Also he's a wolf.
> 
> And Cassandra absolutely, definitely only eats some soup.

They had barely been in the snow for several minutes before she said to herself, "Oh no. No, this won't do."

A few feet behind her, hidden from sight through spirit powers more than whirling snow, a quiet voice agrees into her ear.

"The cold seeks, seeps, splinters when it finds a way into soft hearts and cripples them. Not just the mind, though, and not just in dreams. Your arms are cold, here -"

A few moments pass and Cole doesn't say anything more.

Then a blanket is draped over her, and she is thankful, but it hardly enough against the savage chill. Cole is gone before she can say her gratitudes. _Ah well, another time._ It's too bitterly cold to focus on that.

He was right, though.

She would die out here in her too-thin robes. Freeze or deplete her mana constantly casting heat spells on herself.

But they had to keep moving. The Inquisition was not so powerful that it could afford to ignore a schedule. So it is only several hours later, when they set up temporary camp, that she picked up a spare bow and set out without a word.

...

Of course, the hunting was poor in a frozen wasteland. She did manage three winter-pelted foxes before she saw him.

A white wolf, sniffing along some trail below.

He was magnificent.

She only half-aimed the bow towards him, as if pondering the action. But no, even her discomfort at the cold could not cause her to go through with it. She lowers the bow and sighs.

His ears perk at the noise and he freezes when he catches sight of her. They lock gazes, his eyes a strangely familiar set of stormy blue.

This was no good either.

She stomps her foot, infusing her limb with mana and causing a crater to appear in the snow around her. The wolf startles and flees.

She looks at her paltry prizes and then the sky. Whether she had enough or not did not matter. It would be dark soon, and then she really _would_ freeze.

 

...

 

She was sitting beside the fire, skinning a fox when Solas walked up to her.

"What are you doing?" He asks curiously.

"Some parts dinner, but mostly getting myself something that actually attempts to guard against the freezing cold."

He had come back earlier than she had, with some hunts of his own, but they had already skinned the poor hares in such a way that their scarce pelts were useless to her now. These Inquisition scouts honestly needed more training in some areas. Not that they could really afford it. So she made do.

The other mage beside her hums acknowledgement as she finishes. He pauses, "I know there are many wolves in the area, surely with more meat and fur available for using. Did you not see any?" He asks innocently.

"I don't hunt wolves." She says off-handedly as she gets up to go to her tent and finish. It would have ended a perfectly amiable conversation between them if she hadn't heard his tone when he uttered two words after her retreating form.

"Of course."

Invisible hackles raised on her back, but it was _Solas_. Surely he hadn't meant for it to sound so... snide. She had turned towards him in confusion, eyebrows drawn.

"You are Dalish." Solas said simply, repressing a grimace.

She looked at him as if he had grown an extra ear.

He frowned as she continued to look at him in complete and utter bafflement, and he added "To appease the Dread wolf... ?" At least he didn't sound preoccupied with his distaste now.

She stared at him, then slowly lifted her gaze towards the skies, as if she were asking how could such a stupid thing possibly be said.

She walked away without answering, shaking her head in denial of the idea that Solas of all people could say something so stupidly closed-minded.

 

...

 

She is sitting outside her tent, waiting for the pelts to dry and tracing symbols and doodles into the snow with an arrow when he comes back next.

His feet stop in front of her, but she does not look up from her work as she would normally.

"I am sorry for my assumption earlier. If you would explain to me why do you not hunt wolves, I could understand."

His tone is not commanding, but she can hear in his voice, that upon reflection he had decided her life possibly didn't revolve around pleasing the Dread Wolf and he was willing to make amends to his opinions.

Still.

"I don't much feel in the mood." She says simply, wiping away the snow to start again. It's not actually a lie. But in fuller truth, she wanted to see just how apologetic he was, if really at all.

She didn't look up, but she could feel him frown. She'd never spoken to him like that. And he began to wonder just how much he had offended her.

Quite a bit, to be honest, but she wouldn't say so herself.

"I often answer your questions to the best of my ability, regardless of how I feel at the time." He says this hesitantly.

If not for how upset she is, she might smile at his attempt.

"Yes, but you are always speaking to someone who has an open mind to what you say. You have firmly decided nothing I say will change your mind, and so I will say just that - nothing."

"Do you doubt the sincerity of my apology?" He said with soft confusion as she drew a circle.

"Not precisely, no, but you are apologizing for the fact that you said it, not the fact that you meant it."

Solas shifted, and she forced her gaze not to watch his feet and back to her snow drawings as incredulity colored his tone, "You would demand that I change my views in order to not offend you?"

She wanted to rub away a starting migraine, "You're like a child saying they wish they had not stolen something who only means they wish they had not been caught."

Solas bristled, perhaps it was the child analogy? Well, he was constantly comparing the Dalish to children anyways. Perhaps it would do him good to have a taste of his own medicine.

But it seems she has opened the floodgates.

"I did nothing _wrong_. You Dalish are so quick to blame others for your faults and poor fortune. I simply wanted to know why you had not found larger hunt and came to a conclusion on my own, if prematurely."

Ah, the "You Dalish" tactic. She was no longer an individual to him, then, but a representation of all his troubles to which he could direct his ire.

She looked up at him then, unamused and unmoved. That had been easy - _disappointingly_ easy. How quick he was to go for the bait - to forget what she'd thought was a strong friendship. How quick he turned to biting when barking was not enough.

"You _were_ wrong, Solas. You made an assumption that was incorrect while simultaneously deciding to insult my culture while you were doing it. And you still are. Why can you not simply admit that?" She said, letting how worn she felt show in her voice and face, "I get enough uninformed stereotypes from human diplomats as it is. I suppose it's offensive to you that I'd expect more from a _friend_."

Maybe that statement stung on too many levels. But it was about time she said something unkind to him so he saw how it felt. She was being honest. Just this once she'd be as unwilling to change opinions as he was about the Dalish. Just once let him deal with the same stubbornness.

She stood up and then went inside her tent. A pause as the flap fell, and she did, for one achingly long moment, wish to cry. There was a heaviness upon her eyes that eventually passed, as if she'd startled herself with the truth of her own words.

She had expected better. Or maybe, even worse, she'd only wanted it, and this was just another on a string of tales in which Solas was her friend and mentor and then simply she was not good enough for him.

That was it.

The Dalish were disgusting to him, so really she should be thankful for any kind words at all. But she'd rather he treated her honestly (no she didn't, the thought of him sneering at her derisively hurt, hurt, hurt in a way she could not name) than pretend she was not what she was.

She was sick of it. Being denied her culture and then forced to bear the brunt of its perceived imperfections under his scrutiny.

She sat down and began tanning the hides. They had a good friendship, but it always came back to this. She usually submitted to him in arguments, either because she realized he was right or because she was willing to contend he might be. But in this he refused. And when she did, she was suddenly a headstrong, stubborn Dalish again just for defending herself. Her being Dalish. It was unforgivable to him.

And she was tired of apologizing for something she hadn't done to him.

Eventually they had to address it.

But she'd forgive him for his slights only if he forgave her for being who she was.

A simple enough request, she thought, pulling a skin onto her lap.

He wouldn't, though.

Of course, she'd quite forgotten that Cole had accompanied them on this venture.

 

...

 

There's a terribly small amount of fur for her to use. Maybe she would line the insides of her current wear? Unsavory, but acceptable under the circumstances. She did not want to spend tomorrow trekking through the snow with only light cloth to guard her.

She arranged the three pelts on the ground in front of her. At least she's small. And Dalish. She can manage with what she has. That is what the Dalish do.

A stone sinks in her gut that Solas would probably scoff at that.

Her tent flap shifts and a giant, shaggy hide is dropped in front of her. She looks up.

Solas stands with his hands behind his back, head bent apologetically.

That was promising.

"I recognize that I have wronged you in my willful assumptions of your culture. You know I have... Had troubles with the Dalish, and usually you are accepting of that, even admitting that they have flaws, but..." He smiled dryly, "I suspect anyone would have their patience tested should they routinely suffer insults on behalf of their people."

She tilted her head, acknowledging the statement. She could feel a monologue coming on, however, and not the nice kinds he sometimes said with some poetic undertones.

He continued, "I should remind myself more often that despite all the faults of the Dalish, they cannot be nearly so bad as I believe if someone like you can be a result of their efforts."

She nearly frowned at that, and only blushed slightly, disagreeing with the statement as a whole. Still, she'd let him have his bit.

"I shall endeavor in the future to not attribute the whole flaws of a society upon one individual, especially someone as undeserving of such judgement as you."

Now she did frown. Why could he simply not say sorry and mean it? Why did he have to dance around his statements?

"Solas -" she starts, but he puts up a hand, eyes closed.

That is the first tell. That this is hard for him but he is doing it. For her.

She closes her mouth.

"You are right." He says softly, "I have long learnt that I never need fear of telling you something and being turned away from it because you disagree - if, even, you do. I have wrongly come to expect you would therefore agree with me in all things, and eventually come to some realization that the Dalish are wrong, without ever considering that, possibly, it might be some other way. It was unbecoming of me - and you are right. It was especially closed minded for someone who values freedom of independent thought as much as I do."

He opened his eyes, "I would do better by you in the future."

She nods up at him and then, because she suddenly feels she should, she stands. She ducks her head when she realizes the wetness of her eyes, hoping he didn't see but knowing he did.

"Ma serennas."she says thickly and then snaps her mouth shut in mortification of how vulnerable she is right now.

She sees his fingers twitch at his sides, as if he had almost hugged her but thought better of it. Indeed, if she started bawling in his arms she wouldn't have stopped for a while, and though she doubted she'd be getting sleep tonight, she is sure he has every plan to.

She crouches back down to look over the fresh druffalo fur. She brushes her fingers over it lightly.

"I did not realize they roamed this far south."

"They don't." Solas said simply, following her and motioning to help.

She notices the well hidden but still visible killing blow, matted but clean. It is not - as she would have expected from Solas - the mark of ice magic, but as if a predator had lunged and torn out it's throat. Bloody and messy and difficult to deal with - a hassle. But a quick kill, too. Did he perhaps chase off a bear? The bites are massive - more canine then anything else. Definitely not a dragon. She wonders but does not press the delicate shoots resprouting from the botched pot of their friendship. She also, absolutely, one hundred percent does not sniffle.

They cut and worked in silence until finally, long after her eyes has stopped shining, he murmured, very carefully,"So why did you not hunt any of the wolves?"

She snorted, smiling despite herself, "I only saw _one_. And I..." She blushed slightly, "I could never bear to kill them back home. They are exceedingly beautiful creatures."

"Indeed." He said softly.

Emboldened by the agreement, she added "I wish you had seen the same I had. He was magnificent, unlike any other I have seen before. if you had been hunting with me, you would have agreed on this, I am sure."

She glanced up to see the tips of his ears flushed red. Oh, they had never hunted together before. Perhaps it was that?

It was an intimate sort of activity for the _Dalish_ after all. She hadn't realized he would know that, though.

She ducked her head again, willing away a slight blush when he caught sight of her staring. His ears - ever expressive - angled downwards in embarrassment, and almost in desperation, he changed the subject. She readily let him.

"And your clan?" He said, sounding genuinely curious.

She rolled her eyes, "Could not afford not to. If there was meat that could be eaten, it was. If things were desperate enough, even Halla were sometimes eaten." She lapsed into grim silence at that.

She chuckled to herself finally, "Though I suppose it seemed more authentic if Fen'Harel charms were carved front _actual_ wolf bone."

He frowned, which caused her to grin wider, which in turn caused him to realize that she'd said that exactly for such a reaction.

He shook his head at her, chiding, molding a sleeve and attempting to tap down a small smile.

"One would think you have almost no fear for the terrible Dread Wolf at all." He teased, although he curled in on himself as he said it, as if bracing for her words.

She stared at him, "Solas... they're... Folk tales. Stories. Clans who claim encounters are generally suffering from either Mischief or some other demon taking form accordingly. He's not actually..." She actually felt embarrassed on behalf of Solas for a moment, "I mean, sure they were real but they weren't actually all powerful beings ..."

He was staring at her in shock, druffalo hide forgotten.

The silence is overwhelming, she thinks, in this too small, too stuffy tent, with hard packed snow under her feet and no fresh air on her skin.

She does tend to go on when nervous, doesn't she?

"Why would the Dread Wolf actually bother with us anyways? Like, I know every other keeper talks about 'Not being tempted by the Dread Wolf' but they're talking about any demon or spirit offering things. Or they need a morality lesson for the children and he's familiar enough that they don't stay up at night on the nuances of folk tales and bad and good. No one actually - I mean, If _I_ were him, I'd have better things to do than devour children who don't make flower crowns for my statues."

She tired to get herself to stop babbling. He had the queerest expression on his face, as if he couldn't comprehend what he knew he was hearing.

Finally, a shadow crossed over his face and he pressed a nearly imperceptibly shaking hand to his brow.

"I truly have misjudged you." He said faintly, "All this time, I thought you based integral parts of your life on superstition, but-" he breaks off into clipped elven and she gets the distinct impression that she has suddenly learned some ancient curse words.

Oh, that alone would make this worth it. And the look on his face when she used them at some distant point in the future would make it worth it all over again, too.

He shook his head, mumbling to himself. She could have sworn her eyes are right about to pop out of her head, and then, of all the things to do, he started _laughing_.

It's small chuckles at first, but they grow, as she'd never heard him laugh before, not quite like this. It shakes through his shoulders, like relief from a pressure she'd never noticed on them. As if he can fully breath for once.

It's beautiful and alarming.

A tentative hand made it to his face and he startled, ceasing and dropping his hand in the process.

He is slightly flushed, and frowns in consternation when he realized himself "Ah, forgive me, I ..."

She stared at him for a moment.

Abashedly he murmured, "Perhaps tracking and hunting a druffalo alone through a snowstorm has addled my mind?" He offered hopefully.

They knew it was not true, but she felt something treacherously close to hope banging around in her chest and so she let him go on it.

She snorted and shook her head, "Your mind is just as addled as always, ha'ren." She teased.

She saw a line in his shoulders tense at the words, but she has already continued.

"Don't worry," she leaned in conspiratorially, "I won't tell anyone your secret."

He watched with a gleam in his eye, eyebrows raised.

She leaned back, "Besides, I'll let you in on something; I'm nuts, too. No one'a figured it out yet, poor sods." She winked, grinning wider as she saw him snort.

...

When Cassandra peers into the tent to inform them dinner is ready, she finds two elves, warmth and laughter, a finished hide coat, and a soft heart basking in the glow of another. She makes her exit soon after, confused. Perhaps it was an elvehen thing?

Cole is waiting for her outside, smiling too.

"It is and it isn't." he confirms, "He thought they were different cloth and she thought they were the same cloth treated differently, but they were both wrong."

She takes the bowl of soup he offers, as she sits down curious but trying not to seem overly invested.

"What are they, then?" She wonders if Cole is speaking of people or fabric, although the implications... well. Their cheeks had been quite flushed when she'd entered.

"Different sides of the same cloth." He tells her cheerfully, "What she wore before wasn't strong or good enough but it doesn't need to be so long as _they_ are, and he might know it better now. The coat is warm, druffalo isn't wolf fur, but a wolf gave it to her as thanks for letting him keep his. Solas didn't want the cold to get her."

Cassandra paused. Hadn't Solas said something offensive to her only several hours ago? But then she _had_ seen him appear with the hide and... well, the coat had obviously been made from druffalo hide. That was... quite romantic, actually. She ducks her head, forgetting that Cole would not likely care about her slight blush.

She clears her throat, "It's just as well." She confirms, her gaze darting towards the tent in question, "It would not do for the Inquisitor to freeze to death."

"No," Cole agrees, "The cold shouldn't take hold of soft hearts."


End file.
